


A Very Fine Erection Indeed

by LimaniWolf



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 12:25:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LimaniWolf/pseuds/LimaniWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's hands are skilled at many, many things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Very Fine Erection Indeed

There are some things that John is 100%, totally and utterly sure about. These include but are not limited to:

1) The screaming toddler will be stationed in the seat next to him on all flights, whether it be short or long-haul. The presence of vomit from afore stated child varies from situation to situation however.  
2) Takeaway will always taste better after a night in the fridge.  
3) Wasps attracted while picnicking are purely due to John’s presence, rather than the food.

And last, but certainly not least:  
4) If the book you’re reading has even the smallest bit of naughtiness, it is a guarantee that a curious nanna that is passing by, or marauding child will inexplicably open it to said page.

And it is upon this fourth rule that seems to form the foundation of the erm _physical_ aspect of his relationship with one Consulting Detective. 

John is rather surprised at the enthusiasm that Sherlock has thrown into their relationship, so much so that barely a day goes by without the lanky limpet pinning himself to a busy-tea-making-John, or without one of them (or after a particularly good night; both) finding the simple act of sitting on a chair comfortably, a difficult task indeed.

In public it’s a completely different matter however, because Sherlock insists on secrecy. After a lot of probing John finally got to the crux of the matter; family expectations and tradition. Sherlock comes from and old family. Not in the literal sense of physically aged, but meaning a family full of history, old money and set ways of doing things. The ways of courting somebody are done in a particular way, no sex before marriage, the parents have to meet their child’s intended on the second date, a marriage proposal takes place on the third. John’s surprised an arranged Holmesian aristocratic marriage hasn’t taken place between Sherlock and somebody with a poncy name, like “Victor”, to be completely honest. 

 

And so they began dating in secrecy, began having sex in secrecy (John doesn’t mind that though, he’s no voyeur. Although with Sherlock one never knows). They proclaimed their love for each other in secrecy, having the midnight dark and each other’s beating hearts hold the promises whispered from truthful souls and initially hesitant lips.

 

And so for Sherlock, John doesn’t mind doing it. Like a mantra he repeats that he really doesn’t, and each time they’re up to something beyond the locked door of 221B he and Sherlock get an adrenaline kick. But it does mean that they’ve got to be sneaky, like perfectly timing those little grabs so that people don’t see what it is that just made John jump. Or an inconspicuous but precise placement of Sherlock’s scarf over a mark that clearly shows that Married-To-My-Work-Holmes is getting a bit on the side. So these are small mercies that sustain John when they’re out and about.  
But due to Sherlock they’re still not “out”, and John doesn’t see it happening in the near future. 

This is how they’ve arrived at their current predicament. Cue the occurrence of rule number four, but with Sherlock and John, rather than with the people found in the pages of Johns literature–  
“You call that drivel literature?? My experiments have cultivated better reading material! Why in fact just the other day I-“  
“Oh piss off Sherlock-”  
*cough* Right, yes, thanks. Back to the matter at hand. Sherlock’s hand to be specific. You might not have noticed, although you probably have, that Sherlock has lovely hands; long, limber and smooth. Those hands can do many things, such as restrain a murderer, are gifted at sign language (from French to Maritime and variations thereof), can wrap around a bow and play beautiful odes on a violin, and can wrap around John’s aching cock and make him moan. The latter of which Sherlock is doing right now. 

Neither of them are sure how they ended up in the Scotland Yard stationery cupboard. Talking to the Yarders one minute, bundled up in the dark against reams of paper the next. Talking of reaming, Sherlock’s other hand is moving from his mouth, down past John’s arousal, slickened with saliva with intent. John bites down on his lip. Hard. But the moans still escape, seeming to amplify in the tiny room. Sherlock tries to contain them by kissing John deeply, his soft lips firmly capturing John’s, but to be honest it doesn’t stifle anything, it just makes it worse. 

John’s mind may be otherwise occupied, but Sherlock is still as aware as ever. He knows that this was a terrible idea, but honestly one can only take so many gushed compliments, adoring looks and sneaky gropes before cracking. He knows that Lestrade will already be looking for him; he isn’t allowed anywhere at the Yard without supervision. Not since the recent incident with the dead pig in the D.I.’s office. On retrospect maybe it was a bit unprofessional to conduct the harpoon-velocity experiment in Lestrade’s office, but honestly, where was he supposed to do it? After all, John would have withheld sex if he’d done it at home. 

“Sherlock…? Has anyone seen Sherlock?”

Close. Too close. And getting closer. Sherlock’s hands were making quick work of his doctor’s erection, his left jerking his heavy cock, while the fingers of his right are buried deep inside the doctor’s arse. Approximately 6.2 seconds later John is coming. Hard. And up the wall for that matter, and Sherlock only just jerks out of the way in time. Well this coat is bespoke! John’s groans fill the air, and Lestrade is only moments away from discovering that “flatmates” isn’t the only term that now applies to Sherlock and John. 

“SHERLOCK…??!!”

John suddenly feels his trousers being wrenched up, quickly zipped and buttoned, a swift kiss being pressed to his forehead, before he is shoved down into the corner of the stores cupboard. Boxes are frantically piling up in front of him, making a makeshift barricade. But John isn’t complaining, he’s just had the best quickie of his life. 

Sherlock finishes his Architecture-for-Beginners Course with a flourish; scattering a garnish of a full fifty-pack box of pens over his wall of display folder boxes, inkjet refill cartridges and air-freshener cartons. And all constructed in record time he notes proudly. It is perhaps, one of his finest erections.  
The door then bursts open, a relieved Lestrade in the doorway.

_“He wouldn’t be looking relieved if he knew what I’ve just done to his storeroom.”_ Sherlock thought, his smirk briefly lingering on John’s signature on the wall.

“Sherlock- what on earth are you doing in here?” Lestrade asked pointedly.

Sherlock’s eyes quickly swept across the room, before coming to rest on a dead moth. Perfect. Sweeping it up and presenting it with a flourish, Lestrade’s eyebrows narrowed.

“Really Lestrade, it’s not me you should be asking, as the evidence of this deceased arthropod will attest, acquisition of a stationery stores room for reasons of both a dubious and sexual nature between two of your officers is surely against company policy.”

From behind his box barricade John struggles to hide his high-pitched laughter.

“Sorry but what? And how did you get that from a dead moth?!”

Sherlock brushes past him and out the door, muttering something about dropping dead too if he had seen Anderson naked. 

But our Lestrade’s not a D.I. for no reason, and he’s pretty sure that:  
a) that’s the dodgiest deduction from Sherlock he’s ever heard,  
b) that John was around earlier, but now is not,  
c) and although Lestrade doesn’t like to speculate, he’s fairly sure that spread’s not from a leaky tippex bottle.

And so Lestrade lets it slide, partially because John is his good mate and whatever it is he’s doing, he’d be doing it for a reason, but primarily because further prying into Sherlock’s love life might encourage further exploration by the Consulting Detective into his own. And Mycroft has made Greg swear to be secretive for the time being. 

And so Sherlock and Lestrade part ways, Sherlock for 221B to await John’s return after a sneaky exit, and Lestrade to his paperwork-filled office. And on this day they have much more in common than they’d care to believe.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my first ever fanfiction!


End file.
